


Cuff-linked

by on_the_run_from_the_MI5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Jim Returns, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 18:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_run_from_the_MI5/pseuds/on_the_run_from_the_MI5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after losing Jim Moriarty, Sebastian is still depressed and completely out of his mind.<br/>And even when Jim stands directly in front of him, it's hard for him to truly believe the mastermind has come back to him for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuff-linked

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know why I'm actually doing this. This just...I don't know... happened?!  
> For Mimi

“No. Nonononononono.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Sebastian tried to sit up against the headboard, but he got tangled in the bed sheets. Instantly, panic spread out in his body ( _toohottootightcan’tmove_ ) and he frantically shoved the bedding away, breathing like a marathon runner when he finally settled with his back against the cool wood.

It wasn’t the first time in the last three years that he would wake up in complete panic. In fact, it would have been the first time he’d not have woken up feeling sick to his stomach and with his heart beating so hard it knocked the air right out of his lungs. With a trembling, clammy hand, he pushed the sweat-soaked hair out of his forehead and closed his eyes to...

No good. No good, no good, no good...

Memories flooded his churning mind...blood pooling on the ground, mixing with rain ( _darksodarkwhyisitsofuckingdark?_ )... eyes, empty as they always were and yet so much emptier ( _he’sfallingrightdownintothemohgodnonono_ )... a grin so sparkling white and so bright and so dead it seemed like an insult to the whole world ( _ahfuckstopgrinningstopgrinningstopitnow_ )...

Sebastian opened his eyes wide to make it go away, just make it all go away, away, away... Yet it stayed with him. Stayed like a branding on his retina, stayed carved into his visual cortex.

And Lord, didn’t he just want to express his thank you to his brain with a bullet? ( _justdoitjustdoitjustfinallydoit_ )

It had been three years since _he_ , as Sebastian called _him_ in his mind, had done _it_ , as Sebastian would usually express _it_. Words like... suicide ( _ohjesusfuckingchrist_ ) or _his_... _his_ name ( _ohgodnojesussebkeepbreathing_ ) were absolutely forbidden, even in his endless inner monologues. Well... ‘even’ may have been the wrong word. Not that he has talked about it to anyone. Or about anything else. He’d been living like a recluse for the last three years, his conversations with other people limited to a minimum: “Hi”, “Bye”, “I don’t buy anything at the door” and “Double scotch, please” was all the world had heard in a while from Sebastian Moran – and he had no intention of changing that.

He knew he shouldn’t be feeling like that anymore. Mourning phase, yes. Five stages of grief, yes. You weren’t supposed to...feel the urge to rip your bloody treacherous heart out of your chest ( _painsomuchpain_ ) three years after a loved one had passed. That was sick.

Sebastian buried his face in his hands and those thoughts in the depths where they belonged.

So he wasn’t normal. So he was sick. Why should he care? Why should he care about anything anymore? And what did those fuckers know about grief, anyway? They lost their fucking cats and dogs, mommies and daddies, husbands and wives... He’d lost _him_ , for God’s sake.

He’d lost _him_ like he’d lost them all. Like he had lost his dad ( _don’tgodadpleasecan’tyouworkitout?_ ), like he’d lost his mum ( _jesusnodon’ttellmeshe’sdeadtellmeshemadeit!_ ) and like he’d lost his comrades in Afghanistan ( _fucknotommydon’tyouletgonow!_ )...

It was just the same all fucking over again.

So much pain, too much pain for one single individual to bear. Sebastian couldn’t... he just couldn’t take it. He’d come back to London all alone, with no one, with no purpose... Until _he_ had come. And _he_ had made everything better and brighter ( _worldpaintedbloodhowhe’dlovedit_ ) and Sebastian had felt this rush again, this will to live.

And then it had happened again. Just as always. Just as always Sebastian hadn’t managed to make _him_ stay. And God... he was all alone in the world. All alone, left behind on a planet that might as well have been completely empty and barren. What was he supposed to do in a world that was full of...ordinary people just like him? It was disgusting.

With a dull feeling of helplessness ( _numbsonumbitmadehimsick_ ) and though he was dog-fucking-tired he reached for the remote control to switch on the telly and watch... just whatever. It was nothing more than noise and flickering light to him, but enough to block out _his_ face and...

 _His_ face. That was _his_ face. _His_ face had suddenly appeared on the TV screen. 

“Did you miss me?” ( _yesyoufuckingidiotmissedyoulikemad_ )

Sebastian scrambled to his feet, dropped the remote control, scattered his sheets all over the place and stared at the telly and wondered if he’d lost it completely now.  
Then he got the answer.

“The telly isn’t what it used to be anymore, is it?” an Irish lilt sounded out from the bedroom doorway. Where _he_ was standing, leaning lazily against the doorjamb, all suit and tie and cufflinks and slicked back hair and evil smile. “Oh, did I interrupt the Judge Judy rerun? Too bad, I really liked that.”

( _yessebastianyou’velostitcompletely_ )

“So...” _He_ held out _his_ arms. “Did you miss me, Sebby?”

“No...”

 _He_ let _his_ arms fall and pouted. “Really? Not even a little bit? The mess you decided to call a flat looks like you missed me. Me and the cleaning lady I used to pay.”

“No...” Sebastian stumbled backwards. His brain had been short-circuited. “You...you can’t be... you can’t be here...you’re dead...” ( _you’redeadandburiedyoucannotbereal_ )

“Well, I wasn’t when I last checked.” _His_ smile got impossibly brighter. “I’m real, Seb. Alive and kicking. Wanna try me?”

Sebastian couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He was glad enough that he could take a few steps forward, even though they were as unsure as a toddler’s. _He_ didn’t make any attempt to meet him halfway. ( _godmaybeit’shimmaybeit’sreallyhim_ )

Seb was in front of _him_ now...and all he wanted was to touch _him_ , to feel if it was really _him_ but... he knew his senses were not reliable. Not anymore. His hand reached out. Hovered over _his_ shoulder. _His_ neck. _His_ lips. _His_ cheek. Nothing Sebastian could really believe. There was only one thing he could be sure about...

His hand went for the back of _his_ head and buried in _his_ hair, Seb’s fingers scraping over _his_ scalp. Then he pulled back, and looked at it. There was no blood. No trace of the red liquid that usually drenched _his_ hair in every of Seb’s fantasies ( _darkredandcoldsocold_ ).

“There’s no blood in your hair”, Sebastian said like an idiot.

 _He_ scrunched up _his_ nose. “Of course not. That would be disgusting.”

And somehow, that was what did it. Seb launched forward and grabbed _him_ in something that was not a hug but a grip worthy of a policeman... and he didn’t let go, no way, he was not letting go ( _tighterandtighternodon’tletgo_ ). And to his surprise, _he_ didn’t peel him off like some nasty insect or child. _He_ just let it happen for a minute or two, and yes, _he_ even wrapped _his_ arms around the blond man’s torso for a few seconds and... might have done something like smoothing his back.

“S’okay, Seb”, he heard _him_ whisper. “I see... I see... it’s just your SAD, I get it...”

( _alrightwhatthehell_ ) Sebastian shoved _him_ away at that, though it physically hurt to let go. He just grabbed _his_ biceps instead to keep up the body contact. “Just my what?”

 _He_ just looked at him calmly, like this was all nothing to _him_. “SAD, Sebastian, is short for separation anxiety disorder and it means that –”

“I know what it means!” he yelled. “It’s just... how can you say it’s ‘just my SAD’? I mean... what the fuck?! You...you bloody died...or...or pretended to and...three years! I was alone for three years!”

 _He_ sighed. “And see? That’s SAD right there. But don’t be mad, tiger. That’s just an ordinary part of a dependent personality disorder, it occurs in–”

“Oh shut up!” Sebastian shouted and shook _him_ a little ( _justshutupandletmefeelthelifeinyourbody_ ). “You know exactly what you’ve done to me! You were the last person I had in this world, and you just did a runner without so much as a goodbye! You broke me, idiot! You know that... that I’m not you, for God’s sake!”

Now _he_ did drop the calm expression, _his_ eyebrows dipped down low and _he_ bared _his_ teeth a bit. _He_ even reached forward and grabbed Seb’s shirt ( _goodlordthestregthinthatgrip_ ). “What? So you think this was just a walk in the park for me? That I didn’t care at all?”

“Well, you certainly seem like you don’t care!”

“I also managed to seem like an ordinary businessman, a boring professor and a clumsy IT consultant, all of which you know I’m not.” _His_ voice was cold, but what _he_ said made a fire burn inside Sebastian’s body.

He gasped and let his hand run up and down _his_ arm. “You missed me?”

“Look, I didn’t say ‘miss you’”, _he_ said, being so _him_ again. “I said that I cared, that’s all. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, I just–”

But Sebastian couldn’t hold back and threw his arms around the other man once more, the force of it knocking them both over in the process. Miraculously, they managed to fall onto the bed – not that _he_ would have called this shabby thing a ‘bed’ – and Seb downright crawled all over _him_ , ignoring _his_ grunts and indignant noises, and covered _his_ small body like a blanket until _he_ rolled them both over with a huff of “Dear God, Sebby, you need to work out again.” ( _himit’sreallyhim_ )

They laid there for what must have been hours and felt like ages and was yet too short a time for Sebastian to wrap his goddamn head around the fact that it was _him_ right there in his arms, in his bed, back in his life, back amongst the living ( _vitalwarmbeautifulbrilliantmad_ ). Somewhere in the back of his mind, which felt like scrambled eggs right now, Sebastian knew it would take ages for him to finally get it, but he allowed himself a moment of optimism – for the first time in years – and decided that he would definitely get all the time he needed.

 _He_ , all the while, was doing _his_ best to accommodate Seb’s need and greed to be close and touching and together... and maybe, just maybe, a part of _him_ needed it as well, Sebastian thought when _he_ carded _his_ hands through the blond hair and bent down to press _his_ lips to Sebastian’s.

The blond man turned his head to the side. He couldn’t kiss _him_ yet ( _notyetbutsoonverysoon_ ), and _he_ seemed content enough just burying _his_ face in Seb’s neck and breathing against his skin.

They staid like that for the longest time ( _notlongenoughnotnearlylongenough_ ), until Sebastian’s eyelids began to droop, and his limbs slowly went lax, and his mind clouded until finally...

His eyes closed. He lost his grip on _him_. _His_ image, alive and well, faded from his mind.

“No!” Sebastian yelled, sat up and nearly broke _his_ nose with his forehead.

“Jesus, Sebby!” _he_ shrieked, just a tad overly dramatic, and then looked down at him thoughtfully. “Should I rather go? So you can–”

“No, don’t go!” Seb started panicking again, he could feel that old, always new feeling in his chest. ( _nodon’tleavemedon’tyoudareleaveme_ )

“Sebby, you–”

“God, no, I knew it, you’re going to leave again, you’re not back, you’re not real, oh fuck no, you–”

A hand, _his_ hand, as it seemed, gripped Sebastian’s chin, fingers digging into his flesh. “I’m real, you complete moron!” that familiar voice hissed. “God, could you calm the fuck down?! I’m here, I’m alive, I’m real, and I’m not going to fucking leave you if you ask me to stay!”

And as Seb was looking into those eyes that seemed so furious and open and honest, and as he felt that touch that was so vice and solid and warm...he prayed for it to be enough ( _butitisn’titjustisn’t_ ).

“I can’t...I just can’t believe you...I can’t be sure...how will I know that you won’t be gone when I wake up?” His breath started pumping again, and quick as _he_ was, _he_ reached into _his_ jacket and got out... a pair of handcuffs. Lord only knew why _he_ had them.

“I’m going nowhere, alright?” _he_ said and opened one side of the handcuff, _his_ tone somewhere between annoyed and calming. _He_ closed the metal ring tightly around _his_ wrist, then opened the other one and reached for Seb’s wrist. And as _he_ slid the cold metal around Seb’s wrist so tightly it was just short from painful, Sebastian found himself taking a deep breath ( _hecan’trunoffhejustcan’t_ ). More than any touch of _his_ skin the coldness and unyielding solidity of the handcuffs reminded Sebastian that _he_ was there, and that _he_ wouldn’t be going anywhere.

 _He_ slid down from Sebastian’s body to lie by his side and face him, all attention focused on _his_ former sniper... and Seb knew that meant something. That _he_ was cuffing himself to the deranged man instead of leaving him be and going to search for someone new, someone stable...that meant something. It didn’t mean that _he_ loved Sebastian. But it meant...that _he_ ’d missed him. ( _hedidjustatinylittlebitbuthedid_ )

“Where’re the keys?” Seb mumbled, already half asleep, but still awake enough to worry.

 _He_ got them out from _his_ jacket and carelessly threw them somewhere into the room. Sebastian heard them hit the floor with a clink, and that made him content. _He_ wouldn’t be able to get them without waking Seb up in the process.

And just as Sebastian’s sleepy brain slowly flickered of, he couldn’t help but say _his_ name. “Jim...” It was nothing but a whisper, and it still hurt ( _hurtslikehell_ ) in his chest, but there _he_ was ( _warmalivebreathingseb’sair_ ), and there was the handcuff ( _coldtightsolidtoughunbreakablesecure_ ) that assured him that _he_ ( _jimjimjimjimjim_ ) was here and going nowhere.  
“Just go the fuck to sleep, Sebby”, _he_ muttered, and it was nearly too easy for Seb to obey to _his_ commands.

( _backandaliveandreal..._ )


End file.
